29. Elio
Chapter twenty-nine
Elio
The trunk closes with a sharp thud.
Aria’s been edgy like this since she returned from work. She suddenly said she had lost her appetite, refusing to have even a bite of the sandwiches I had benevolently prepared for her. And then she wanted to go on a last walk, alone, to catch some fresh air.
As we are getting into the Tacoma to get on our way home, I cannot help but notice that her face is completely devoid of expression. She doesn’t give me so much as a glance as she fastens her seatbelt.
As far as I can remember, this honeymoon was perfect. So what could it be?
The engine roars to life as I turn the ignition, taking one last glance at her beautiful face before turning the steering wheel. Could it be that she doesn’t want to leave the suite but doesn’t know how to say it?
I shake my head. Aria has never been one to choose her words carefully when expressing her feelings. She would have said something by now, but she’s been quiet…too quiet.
Or could she be hurt because of the intense sex we had? Did I hit her too hard? Is she in pain? I shake my head again. She wanted it as much as I did. Those moans couldn’t have been solely from pain.
My fingers grip the steering wheel in confusion. Women! Maybe this is another reason why I’ve stayed away from them for as long as possible.
My gaze keeps darting towards her throughout the drive, but her face doesn’t even turn once to catch my gaze. Her eyes are fixed squarely on the road, and she almost doesn’t even blink.
The second the car rolls into the Donatelli premises, she grabs her purse and gets out of the car.
I open my mouth to call her back. I’ve been planning to tell her that we’ll be sharing my bedroom from now on, but words die in my mouth when Cortez emerges from the house, a huge grin on his face.
“ Capo, benvenuto (Boss, welcome)!”
Thoughts of Aria’s strange behavior dissipate immediately as I get out of the car and shake Cortez’s hand, happy to see him again. Despite the enjoyable time we had, it’s good to be home.
“So you’re really a married man,” Cortez says, running his eyes up and down my body as if the confirmation of my marital status lies on my navy blue suit.
“I’m a married man indeed, Cortez. You were at my wedding, weren’t you?” My hands reach up to secure the buttons on my jacket as I make my way to the house. “Get the bags and meet me in my study with all the reports from the past two weeks.”
He nods and starts after me.
“ Capo , the thing is, Patrick Howard is here to see you. He’s been here waiting since 3 p.m.”
“Today’s a very sensitive day, Cortez. You should have told him so.”
Cortez and I have planned to invite Bruno Moretti over to the mansion to talk business. I’d propose to hand him my ports henceforth, but in return, he’d have to hand in five percent of the profits. The bastard would get comfortable and think we’re talking business when he’d actually be sitting on his own grave.
I glance at my watch. It’s 5:30 p.m. now. I have to find out why Patrick Howard drove half a hundred miles to come and see me when he could have simply called me over the phone.
Patrick Howard hasn’t aged a bit since I last set eyes on him. His round, black face expands into a smile the minute he sets eyes on me. His well-kept beard is all gray now, but his head is still cleanly shaven, and his eyes are still framed by those silver-rimmed glasses.
“Patrick Howard,” I say. His hands grab mine in a firm handshake. “It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you, too, Mr. Donatelli.”
“Please, sit.” My hand flails out, directing him into the chair opposite mine. “Cortez, get those documents ready.”
He knows it’s my way of asking him to leave us, so he lowers himself in a bow and walks out.
“Congratulations on your wedding, Mr. Donatelli,” Howard says with a polite smile. “I didn’t want to intrude, but this couldn’t wait.”
“It doesn’t sound like good news.” After the whole episode with the Frank Paterson case, the unfound Mendez, and the mole, the last thing I need right now is more bad news ruining my mood.
“Whiskey?” I ask, and he understands. If it’s bad, then I’d need good liquor while he spills whatever it is.
Howard shakes his head. “It’s work hours, Mr. Donatelli. I’ll pass.”
My body eases back into my chair, the glass of whiskey in my hand. “Alright then. What’s this about?”
He adjusts his glasses and pulls a tablet from his bag. “I received a notification that someone accessed that case file.”
One of my brows arches a notch higher than usual. “What case file?”
He taps the screen and places the tablet on the desk. “After the court’s approval of my motion to seal the case, I filed for a notice of activity pursuant to some procedures that alerts–”
“Howard,” I cut in, sitting forward, “in plain English, please.”
He clears his throat. “Someone used the DA’s system to search for Antonio Bellini’s file. They accessed the sealed case file of one of our bodies from five years ago.”
The air in the room shifts, a cold unease gripping my chest. The memory is vague, and I don’t quite remember, but if a sealed file was accessed from years ago, then that spells trouble. “So this Bellini’s file was accessed?” I repeat, my tone dropping significantly now.
“Yes. I believe the access was deliberate.”
The glass touches my lips without thinking as I try to process what’s going on. Bellini’s file. Why now?
Howard watches me closely. “Do you think the DA would suddenly open the file? he asks. He hasn’t done that since he assumed office. I don’t think he has any business with that case file right now,” he says carefully.
“You’re right.” My eyes reach up to meet his. “He’s strict and incorruptible but he doesn’t have a reason to mess with seemingly random files like that of Antonio Bellini’s.”
Howard leans forward, his voice dropping a notch. “Actually, it was Mario Abruzzi’s file that he opened. There’s no file under Antonio Bellini’s name.”
My brows crease with confusion. “What are you talking about? Mario Abruzzi?”
“Mr. Donatelli, you read the documents on the victims that died that day, right?”
I shake my head slowly from side to side, completely oblivious to what he’s getting at. “Spill it already. What’s with this fuss about Antonio?”
“I…I thought you read through the documents I handed over to you after the entire case was cleaned up. Antonio Bellini was only a fake identity Mario assumed. I found out while doing my due diligence on the body.”
“I cleaned up a lot of cases for Ezra. I don’t fucking remember dead bodies from five years ago,” I grit.
He reaches into his briefcase to rummage through some files. His actions make me cock my head to an angle but I say nothing, waiting for him to continue.
“It says here that this guy right here is Mario Abruzzi,” he lowers his voice. “Your wife’s older brother.” He glances toward the door and then back at me as if half expecting Aria to be eavesdropping on us.
My face tightens into a deep frown. “I know who Mario Abruzzi is!” I snatch the files from his hands, rummaging through them, then settling on the familiar face of Antonio’s.
Howard doesn’t flinch. “Right,” he says firmly, not giving me a chance to question him further. “Those documents will explain.”
My eyes begin to scan the documents. If these documents hold nothing substantial, he may as well be getting ready to lose some teeth. My jaw tightens as I reach to open a folder among the rest of the documents. The first words hit me like a punch to the gut. Antonio Bellini’s actual name was, indeed, Mario Abruzzi.
What the fuck?
I know Mario Abruzzi is Aria’s brother. The son of Deputy Chief Abruzzi.
“What’s this?” His eyes don’t flinch even when my glare alone should make him piss his pants.
“It’s the truth, Mr. Donatelli.”
“Why the hell am I just getting to know about this!” The documents scatter all over his face as I fling the folder on him. “What sort of madness is this?”
When he doesn’t respond, I slam myself back into the chair. I was busy wondering about the coldness in her demeanor and the distant look in her eyes. It all makes sense now. She was the one who accessed the case file. She knows!
Howard is saying something about having given me the documents to go through right after the case was sealed, but I’m barely listening to him.
My hands move on their own, grabbing the glass of whiskey I poured earlier. I gulp it down in one swift motion, the burn barely registering. Then I pour another and down that, too, like I’m trying to drown the truth he’s just handed me.
“Get out,” I say flatly, setting the glass down after my fourth gulp.
“Mr. Donatelli…”
My reddened eyes make it clear that I’m not in the mood for debate.
Howard sighs, standing. “Be careful, Mr. Donatelli.”
I don’t respond. Just watch him leave. When the door clicks shut, I lean back in my chair, my head swimming.
She must think I killed her brother. The thought claws at me, but there’s no way to explain it to her. Not now. Not without exposing the darker corners of my world, secrets she’s better off not knowing.
I reach for the whiskey again, pour a third glass, and take a slower sip this time. My mind races with the possibilities. What does she plan to do with this? Will she take everything she knows and run straight to her father? I wouldn’t blame her if she did. Even if some of what she thinks she knows isn’t true, it wouldn’t matter.
Perception is enough to destroy everything.
From the desk drawer, I pull out a cigarette and light it. The first drag calms my nerves just enough to focus.
“This is it,” I mutter to myself, staring at the smoke curling upward. Either Aria protects me, or she turns me in.
The irony is not lost on me. After years of successfully ruling the mafia world, my empire?my life?is now literally in the hands of the one woman I ever fell in love with.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel lost and completely out of control.
***
My meeting with Bruno Moretti is in a couple of minutes and with the whole Mario Abruzzi issue distracting me throughout the day, I’ve been feeling restless, snapping at the slightest provocation.
My hand reaches out to the walkie-talkie just beside me in the car. “Take ten men in a different car and wait ten kilometers away from the meeting point. When I give the signal, you guys are to move in immediately.”
We’ve already gone over the plan. He and the others will make their way to the abandoned airplane hangar outside town, the Morettis’ new hideout. That’s where they’re keeping Cortez’s girl. My stomach clenches with fury at the thought.
Cortez silently says, “ Sì, Capo .” My gaze flickers to check my watch. It's 7:25 p.m. Five minutes until I meet that burly mass of stupidity face to face.
The designated meeting location is an uncompleted building site just outside town. I made sure to arrive thirty minutes before the rendezvous time so I could do a quick survey of the area. My wild guess is that the airplane hangar is somewhere close by.
The loud blaring of horns tells me Bruno Moretti has arrived with his convoy, rolling up like he owns the world. I make my way out of my car, monitoring his men as they station themselves outside their van as Bruno Moretti steps down, scanning the perimeter. What they don’t know is that my men are already here, lying in wait.
“Donatelli, it’s good to see you,” his cracked voice calls out across the night.
“I don’t have time for pleasantries, Moretti. Where’s the girl?”
“First, the ports’ right transfer document, Donatelli. This is an exchange, remember?”
As he walks closer, I chuckle. I settle on top of my car’s bonnet, hands gripping my walkie-talkie to prevent myself from bashing my fist into his face when he gets to me.
Bruno Moretti’s men walk closely behind him, dragging a lady whose head is covered with a sack.
So they did bring her out here.
The woman’s hands are bound, her steps unsteady. They stop ten feet short of reaching me, with Bruno standing in the middle.
“Hand over the documents,” one of the men demands.
I push my weight off the bonnet of my car and land lightly on my feet. “Not until I confirm the girl’s identity. Take off the sack.”
Bruno hesitates, then nods at the man who yanks the sack off. This girl does have dark hair, but she’s not the brunette in the picture Cortez showed me earlier today. My pulse quickens as I realize it’s a setup.
Before I can react, I catch the glint of a gun being drawn, and I pull mine just as Bruno Moretti fires. The shot sears through my side. Pain explodes, burning and sharp, but I don’t fall to the ground.
Gunfire erupts, and I dive behind my car door, gritting my teeth as blood oozes from my wound. Lifting the walkie-talkie, I say, “ Muoviti (Move)! Ora (Now)!”
Moretti’s men surge forward, probably thinking they have me pinned. One comes around and lunges at me. His punch skims my cheek. I drive my elbow into his throat. He gurgles, choking and staggering back. Another swings a knife. I grab his wrist and twist until the bones snap. He screams as I slam his head against the car hood.
Two others come at me, but my hands close around the trigger of my gun, firing continuous rounds at both of them, as well as the other three who come after.
Bruno bolts toward his van, the false girl in his grip. That bastard is never getting away. Not on my watch.
I whip my gun up to fire at his tires but it’s already empty. Another thug charges at me at the same time. I sidestep, slamming my fist into his ribs. He folds, gasping, yet I don’t stop. A knee to his face sends him sprawling, nose shattered. His blood spatters on my shirt.
I finish off another one of them with a brutal smash of the car door to his skull. He crumples, twitching.
Lifting the walkie-talkie again, I order, “ Finisci gli altri uomini (Make sure you finish off the rest of these men).” Then I jump into my car, tires screeching as I slam on the gas.
Bruno’s van swerves wildly ahead. I press harder, closing the distance between us. With a sudden jerk of the wheel, I ram into his side. The van derails and flips over, metal crunching loudly as it tumbles to the side of the road into the guardrail then a rough clearing.
I step out and walk toward his half-wrecked van, my entire body screaming from the pain in my side, but I can’t think of that now. Bruno staggers from the wreckage, his face twisted in agony.
He lunges at me first, and we crash to the ground, rolling in the dirt. His fist connects with my jaw, and a sharp explosion of pain tears through the lower part of my face. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.
I swing back, driving my knuckles into his gut. He doubles over, reaching for my wounded side, and punches me. Agony flares through me, making my vision blurry. Gritting my teeth, I hammer my elbow into his face, breaking his nose. Blood sprays between us.
Bruno wrestles me onto my back, pressing a forearm to my throat. My lungs scream for air as I struggle to breathe beneath him. Reaching around me for anything to fight back, my fingers close around a fistful of dirt and I hurl it into his eyes. He roars, momentarily blinded.
I throw his weight off, flipping him onto his stomach. My fists pound into his back and his neck.
He coughs, spitting blood, trying to crawl away. I flip him over again, grab his collar, yank him up, and slam my forehead into his face. His body goes slack for a second. I drive my knee into his ribs, hearing them crack beneath the force.
Bruno collapses, chest heaving, blood running down his face. I yank his gun from his waistband and level it at his head. My breathing is ragged, my body trembling from exhaustion, pain, and fury.
Bruno coughs, wheezing. “If my men back home don’t hear from me in the next ten minutes, they’ll kill both Karl Abruzzi and Mallory.”
My jaw tightens, and this time, I deliver the punch to his gut. “Karl Abruzzi?”
Bruno shrugs, licking the blood from his lips. “Oh, you don’t know?” He says with a smirk, “The Deputy Chief’s been sniffing around, trying to arrest our whole family. We needed to take him out.”
Having heard enough, I punch him in his jaw again, sending him crashing back to the floor. He scrambles, hands slipping in his own blood.
“I swear, the girl will die if you keep this up, Donatelli. You let me leave alive, and she gets to return to your buddy, Cortez.”
My fingers close around the trigger and aim at his leg, nicking his calf. He roars in pain.
“You thieving bastard!” I reach to the ground and seize him by the hair, jerking his head back as I press my gun against his mouth. His eyes flicker with something, pain… fear, maybe both. He gurgles out, “This isn’t the end. He’s coming for you, Donatelli. He…”
I force the barrel past his lips and pull the trigger.
His head snaps back, blood and brain matter painting the ground beneath him.
My nostrils seep in the cold evening air, teeth gritting as I make my way back to my car. Persistent dripping makes me turn towards Bruno’s car, then I remember. The girl.
I hobble over, throwing the door to the front passenger seat open. She’s upside down, pressed to the seat by an airbag, blood dripping from the side of her head.
“Come in, Chi c’è (who’s there)?” I say through the walkie-talkie.
“ Capo , I’m here,” one of my men responds.
“I need immediate backup. Get a car and meet me along the road. Hurry!”
The lady is limp, but there’s a weak pulse.
In five minutes, one of my men arrives, racing down the street in a pickup van.
“Take her to the family clinic. She was in an accident.”
He grabs her from my hands without further questioning while I walk back toward my car, my side soaked in blood and dirt.
This fight is far from over. I have to find Karl Abruzzi or Aria will have my head on a stake, especially now that she blames me for her brother’s death.
Pulling myself together, I get in my car and dial Cortez.